L
by Crimson Cupcake
Summary: -B's POV- Nobody knew what the shop was called, nobody knew what was inside. It was only identified by the giant letter L. There was an eerie feel about it, as if nobody really understood its secrets. -AU ; ONESHOT-


**Before we start...**This is written in the POV of **Beyond Birthday, **a character in the Los Angeles BB Murder Cases book. Although this is an **AU** fic, it may contain **_some_** **spoilers. **Also, I am completely aware that BB has never met L. But this is AU and Fanfiction, so it doesn't really matter. Please also keep in mind that BB wasn't completely insane to begin with, and I **apologize for any OOCness **that may occur.

Disclaimer: Don't own, won't own, and never will own Death Note, sadly!

* * *

I first met you after school with a group of friends. The shop had just opened, the mixture of white and pale blue providing a startling yet surprisingly peaceful contrast to the everyday lifestyle of blinding lights and noises. Nobody knew what the shop was called. Nobody knew what was inside. It was only identified by the giant letter _L_.

I wondered what L stood for as I walked past the first time.

I found myself peeking between the closed curtains as I walked past the second time.

On the third time, I pushed open the door, hearing the faint bell ringing overhead. A massive shop greeted me, stocked to the brim with shelves upon shelves of what looked like...candy.

It was a candy store.

There was an eerie feeling about it, as if nobody really understood its secrets. Every step seemed to echo on the marble tiles. Every breath seemed to frost when I breathed. From the beginning, I was watched. Until the very end. The echoes continued for ages, and I began to wonder whether there was a living soul in this place when I saw you.

You were sitting there, behind the counter, in a most peculiar position. Legs drawn up against your chest and scrutinizing at a document on the table. As I approached, you hastily hid the document and smiled.

I will never forget the first time I saw your eyes.

Dark pools of knowledge swirling, gaze constantly wide and very alert - perhaps too alert - a strong sense of justice and yet loneliness and longing. Perhaps that was what L stood for?

I remember asking you what the name of the shop was. You replied.

"L."

I remember asking you your name, for I could see no badges.

"L," came the same answer.

"Just that letter?"

"Yes."

We lapsed into silence as I looked around. You did not try to start a conversation. Rather, you were waiting for me to begin.

The silence was not awkward, but rather strangely peaceful. I realized later that there was no concept of time within this place. It was a world within a world, a beautiful yet potentially disasterous utopia. I didn't know what to say. "So, this place sells candy?" I asked, conscious of my voice echoing off the walls.

"Every single kind," you replied without hesitation. "Let me show you."

Mystified, I followed you to a nearby shelf. I looked at the tag – one of the few things which had names. Strawberry jam. You gingerly plucked one of the jars down and handed it to me.

"What is this?" I asked, although I already knew the answer.

"Try it," you said.

I unscrewed the lid and cautiously dipped one finger inside. It felt cold and like jelly, but not unpleasant. I tasted it.

"It's...not bad!" I admitted.

You merely smiled and nodded. "I told you so." Your tone was smug.

I nodded, paid for the jam, and walked out, glancing back one last time.

You was back in your normal position, reading the same file as if nothing had ever happened.

* * *

I was back again the next day. You were there again, sitting as if you had never left, eyes waiting as if you expected me all along.

I didn't know why I had come back. Perhaps I was eager to try more, or perhaps I was simply curious about the candy. About this shop. About you.

"Why are you back?" You asked, as if reading my mind.

I didn't know, so I didn't answer.

"Would you like to try something else today?" you asked again in that innocent voice. I would come to hate that innocent voice of yours, full of deceit, lies and fake words of comfort. But not yet.

Again, I didn't answer.

You slouched off, and I was compelled to follow. Through the forest of shelves, with eye-catching flavours in every single direction, you navigated the way as if you had been here all your life. At last, you stopped and handed me something.

"Chocolate," I said, turning a bar around in my hand.

"Correct." That indifferent tone again. At first I thought you were testing me, but I gradually came to realize you tested _everybody_, _everywhere_. You had tested them so much and tried to logically think in their position so much that it was now your normal tone.

I bit off a piece of chocolate after unwrapping it. It seemed to melt in my mouth: a heavenly taste of sweetness, and yet...

"You prefer the jam."

It was not a question, but a fact bluntly stated.

I blinked, concealing my surprised, and nodded.

"I'll take you back to the jam." You began to walk, almost leaving me behind in the maze of shelves. I had enough sense to follow. I could have spent an eternity in here, simply wandering around the place and trying millions of sweets. It would have been the closest to heaven. But it would be _your_ desired heaven, not mine.

Once more, I felt the need to break the silence. "Are you the only one working in here?" I asked.

You nodded, and put a finger to your lips, large eyes staring unblinkingly at me. "Yes," you answered. "There used to be someone else."

"Who?"

"A." You replied.

"A what?"

"His name was A."

"Oh."

"Names are powerful," I recall you saying. "We do not use names in here. I am L, he was A, and you..." You stared at me, as if evaluating my ability, and I matched your gaze. "You are B."

I grinned. "B," I repeated, liking the sound. "Do you have any more jam?"

You nodded, and retrieved several more jars. I paid for them, once again. "Aren't there any other customers?" I asked.

"People rarely come here."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

It was only when I was back outside in the strange normal world that I realized you may have not been completely truthful with me. But what did that matter? Everyone had their own secrets.

* * *

The third day found me drawn there yet again. You were sitting there as you always had, waiting for me as you always would.

"Hello, B," you greeted quietly.

"Hello, L," I replied back.

"Why have you come back?" you asked.

Like the day before, I had no answer, so I shrugged.

"Why don't you bring your parents or siblings here?" you suggested.

"I don't have any."

"Oh, what a shame." For a second, I almost wanted to believe that you meant those weords. You paused for a moment, before saying, "Do you live by yourself? Perhaps you could come and live with us."

"Us?"

"My father and I. I was an orphan too," you explained, "before I was adopted."

"Your father must be a nice man."

"He is. Maybe you will be adopted too, someday."

I shook my head, and smirked slightly. "Not a chance, L."

"Why not?"

I merely grinned as an answer.

"Do you have a job, B?" you asked me.

"No, but I'm looking for one."

"Why don't you work here?" You gestured towards the giant store.

I looked around, pretending to consider when I had already made up my mind. "Here?" I repeated with a smile.

You nodded.

"It must get a little lonely working by yourself," I mused.

"Sometimes it does."

I cocked my head to the side and scanned the shelves. "I'd like to work here," I said quietly. "How much an hour?"

"As much as you'd like," came the reply.

That was vague, but good enough for me.

"Okay, L."

* * *

You tried to offer me a hundred dollars an hour first.

I declined. I didn't realize that when you'd said 'as much as you'd like', you meant it literally. I may want some money, but even I'm not that greedy.

In the end, we settled on $70.

It turns out that there was nothing much to do in the place. Each day, I would come, and you would show me a small part of the shop. You would teach me to label and to give appropriate prices. And then you would give me a jar of jam while you nibbled away on some cake.

I often did my homework while I was there. You did not protest. Instead, you gave me tips and advice.

"I suggest you sit like this, B," you said once, when I was stuck on a particularly difficult question.

"Sit like that?" I surveyed his form, with his knees drawn up against his chest. "Why?"

"It raises deduction ability by 40%."

"Deduction ability?" I wasn't sure what he was talking about, but in these weeks I had grown to trust L. "Fine, I'll try it."

In the end, I got used to the pose as well. Not to mention that it might have actually helped my studies. I was by far the best in the class, a born genius, they told me, and yet there always seemed to be problems I couldn't understand. You helped me, guided me through every single cheat, told me a million of your own theories, taught me more than the decades of school ever had, and explained everything I didn't understand. In the end, there was not a question I couldn't do with ease.

I never stopped to wonder whether you had your own mentor as well, or whether you had to figure out everything from scratch.

When I graduated from high school, I went back to the shop. You were there again, watching me sadly as if you knew that this day would come, and it had come too soon.

"I'm leaving, L," I said.

You probably already knew the answer, but you asked anyway. "Why?"

"I'm going to university."

"Where?"

I focused on the spot just above his head. I found that this helped – it made others think I was looking at them, but I was able to avoid their gaze and think my own thoughts. "Somewhere far away," I replied.

You reached under the table and reappeared with a bulky envelope. "Take this," you said.

I took it. "What is it?"

"Cash."

I could not fully conceal my surprise this time. "What for?"

"In case you need it."

I grinned. "I won't need it."

You shrugged and looked at me curiously, as if you were never able to figure me out completely. "Good luck, B." You settled yourself comfortably on your chair, just like the first day I met you.

"Goodbye, L," I said.

And I had a feeling I would never see him again.

* * *

It had been two months since I'd moved; two months since I'd last seen L, and already the days were crawling past. I began to think that I was too hasty. I should have treasured those moments in that shop more, instead of being too eager to see the world. How I regretted it.

But it was too late to go back now.

L's wad of cash was at the bottom of the last drawer. I hadn't used it, and I'm certain I never will. It wasn't that I found it suspicious or anything, no. I had set my suspicion and conscience down at the door the day I decided to walk into that shop.

I was determined to prove that I could survive without him, that I didn't need to rely on him, that I could manage by myself. But the nickname 'B' had stuck, and instead of getting people to call me by a letter, as L had done, I made up my own name based on that letter.

Everyone knew me as Beyond Birthday except myself.

I still thought of myself as B.

A few months later, I had enough money working part-time to open my own candy store. It was only a small one, yet with shelves packed full.

But I had adjustments. The counter was next to the door, not at the back. The prices were cheaper than what L's had been. Although, deep down, I felt that I would never be able to match up to the quality of L's products. But I ignored it. I would be the best this time.

I sat as L had sat, partly to humour him, but also because I found that my brain _did _work better if I sat like that. Perhaps L had been right yet again.

I had a talent in reading people. When a customer walked in, I knew exactly what they were looking for. I knew exactly how much they were willing to spend. And all the time, I kept my eyes fixed on the top of their head.

I could read every single person I met, had ever met, or would ever meet.

Except L.

One day, a Japanese woman came in. She was young, about my age. Her dark hair fell to her waist and she glanced around the store before speaking.

She asked me the name of the store. I replied.

"R."

"Then what is your name?" For there were no badges.

I made up my mind.

"Please call me Ryuzaki."

* * *

**A/N: **I'm happy with the way it turned out.

So please, whether you liked it or have constructive criticism or thought I completely failed at life, please review!

~C.C.


End file.
